


and we'll go, go, go

by pallasjoanna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Marriage Proposals, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallasjoanna/pseuds/pallasjoanna
Summary: Reminders for Future Me:1.	You should be the best volleyball player ever!2.	Keep looking for aliens even if meanie Iwa-chan says they’re not real!3.	You’re gonna be the best-looking boy in school one day!4.	Ask Iwa-chan to marry you!!!
“Come on, Tooru, what’s in the notebook?”“Your big ugly forehead.”Hajime just raises an eyebrow. “Your funeral.”





	and we'll go, go, go

 

“You just missed Mom and Dad,” his sister says from the kitchen. Tooru should really help Takeru set the table, but after one look at him, his nephew had told him to wait in the living room.

(“You’d just trip over your feet, Uncle Tooru,” Takeru had said. Cheeky brat.)

“We’ll be here for the whole weekend anyway,” Tooru says. “Ah, that train ride was killer. I tried to sleep on the way here, but trains are so horrible for any kind of beauty sleep! I’m dying, Nee-chan!”

“Aw, boohoo,” his sister says in the most teasing, vindictive tone she has managed yet, even counting all the times back when Tooru was still in elementary and middle school. “You’ll live. And I’m pretty sure you were sleeping on Hajime-kun’s arm anyway, so if anything, I’m more worried about his circulation.” She ignores Tooru’s faux indignant gasp. “Speaking of Hajime-kun, is he going to stay over at his parents’?”

“Yeah, but he might come over later.”

His sister snorts. “’Might.’ Alright, baby brother, get your butt into the kitchen.”

 

*

 

“Extra futon’s still right in your cabinet if you need it. _If_.”

“Ooh, Nee-chan, think of Takeru! What kind of slander are you inflicting on your beloved brother?”

“The true kind. And oh, I’ll send Hajime-kun up here when he comes by. Good night, Tooru.”

“’Night.”

As much as Tooru and Hajime have made their apartment in Tokyo into something distinctly theirs, there is always going to be something comforting in going back to his old bedroom, even if it looks so untouched. The shelf containing his alien plushies—he’d brought a couple to Tokyo—is covered in plastic, a light film of dust on the surface. Everywhere else though—his bedside table, his desk that once had in PC on it but has since been moved to Takeru’s room—it’s all spotless. His bed smells like fresh laundry, and it seems that his family hasn’t changed whatever brand they were using yet. It’s nice to know.

Apart from that though, his room has been turned into half a storage room. There are some of Takeru’s toys in a box by the foot of his bed, and there are some old clothes from various family members in one corner of his drawer. There are some books on his desk that he doesn’t recognize, too—

His hand rests on a ratty-looking notebook, every inch decorated with alien stickers or marker doodles.

Tooru blinks. Huh.

Before he takes opens it though, someone knocks on his door. Tooru calls out a hasty ‘come in’ just as the door opens for Hajime who immediately plops down onto Tooru’s bed.

“Oh, you still have that?” Hajime asks, pushing himself up so that his head rests on Tooru’s shoulder.

“Mhm. I’m not even sure what I put in here already.”

“Your shitty doodles, no doubt. Mom and Dad say ‘hi’ by the way. They want you to come over tomorrow.”

Tooru flips the cover open. Well, Hajime’s not wrong. There’s also some notes in some made up language that they made up back in third grade. He wonders if the key is still somewhere here. “How about we all eat out tomorrow? Make a trip to Sendai out of it. Go big or go home, right? Oh look—“ he points to a bug-eyed Godzilla in one corner of a page. “It’s your even shittier drawing.”

“So?” Hajime laughs. “You’ve still got more than me.” He presses his lips on Tooru’s ear, earning him a pleasant shiver. “Go on, I’m starting to remember some of these.”

So does Tooru. There’s a series of notes that nearly got them in trouble with his homeroom teacher once, a drawing of a volleyball court and balls that marked the time the both of them got into volleyball, and near the end of the notebook, there should be—

Oh no. Tooru snaps the book shut too quickly for any attempt at nonchalance.

 Hajime gives him a puzzled look.

“Why don’t we look at the other stuff here?” Tooru is well aware that his attempt at deflection is on a whole other level from mediocre, but one can’t really blame him for trying. “Did you know that my sister has some novels here—“

“Oi, don’t rag on Megumi-nee-chan like that.” Hajime slides over to his side. “Come on, Tooru, what’s in the notebook?”

Tooru grins and sticks out his tongue. “Your big ugly forehead.”

Hajime just raises an eyebrow. “Your funeral.”

And then his hands start tickling Tooru’s sides.

“Holy—oh my god, Hajime,” Tooru wheezes. “Get off me, I can’t believe you—“

“Ha, too easy!” Hajime crows and snatches the journal from Tooru’s loose grip. It’s useless when Tooru tries to grab it back; by then Hajime has already flipped to the last page, and Tooru really starts planning his own funeral.

Tooru has known Hajime since—he’s not sure. Their mothers like retelling the story about their playdates in the crib back when they were still in diapers, so maybe since forever. It’s natural that the side effects of knowing each other for their whole lives include knowing almost everything about each other.

Unfortunately, this falls into a very small category of Things Iwaizumi Hajime Probably Doesn’t Know About Oikawa Tooru Yet, and the impending embarrassment feels so strong that Tooru wants to dive under the covers and never come back out.

His ten-year old self could at least have the decency to warn him.

Hajime’s brows furrow as he concentrates on Tooru’s handwriting—it didn’t really improve until the end of middle school. He can almost pinpoint exactly what word Hajime is reading from the furrow in his brows, the slight quirk in his lips. Tooru sighs and resigns himself to the inevitable.

_ Reminders for Future Me: _

  1. _You should be the best volleyball player ever!_



A work in progress, Tooru thinks. It’s difficult and Oikawa Tooru has never been a genius, but he’s been pacing himself better these days and knowing that he’s enough for Hajime does make it easier.

  1. _Keep looking for aliens even if meanie Iwa-chan says they’re not real!_



Probably written after the Aliens vs. Godzilla Debacle between the Oikawa and Iwaizumi households.

  1. _You’re gonna be the best-looking boy in school one day!_



Ah, that one. Someone he vaguely remembers as Shimada-kun had bullied him for his braces and glasses combo. It took his sister grudgingly allowing him to look at her photos in elementary before he could stop crying when he got home.

(“All the Oikawas bloom when they hit puberty, Tooru,” his mother said to him with a wink.)

  1. _Ask Iwa-chan to marry you!!!_



He knows Hajime has gotten to that particular item with the way the back of his neck burns red, a tinge reaching all the way up to his ears. He’s always been easy to read like that. Tooru looks up to the ceiling, trying to find something interesting, like—his glow-in-the-dark stars. His father stuck them up there when Tooru was five, and he adds to them from time to time.

“Tooru.”

“Yes, I know, Hajime, ten-year old me was the most embarrassing thing ever,” Tooru says. Better to rip it off like a band-aid, right? Although who needs a band-aid? The M word is a relationship landmine. He needs more than a damn band-aid. “Like, haha, can you go back to laughing at my alien doodles now? I mean, weren’t we all embarrassing when we were ten?”

“You’re still embarrassing now,” Hajime mutters.

“Excuse you,” Tooru says, blinking at Hajime. “I’ll have you know that I’m…”

His voice dies in his throat.

Hajime, his dearest Hajime, looks steadily at Tooru, a hand rubbing at the nape of his neck, his face red all over. But his mouth is stretched wide in one of the biggest smiles Tooru has seen on him yet, one that crinkles his eyes in the most perfect picture of happiness, and he can’t help but fall speechless at it.

Well, only mostly speechless.

 “Do you…” His strangled voice comes out in an undignified squeak. “Do you want to marry me, Hajime?”

Hajime’s eyes grow wide. “Um.”

“ _Me_?” _You want to be stuck with me for the rest of your life?_

“Who else is it gonna be?” Hajime snaps. “Isn’t this how these things usually go?”

“Wow, way to be unromantic about it, Iwa-chan.”

“Of course, it’s going to be you. I mean—“ Hajime falters, looking down at the well-worn journal. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t have anything like this to prove it to you—although your mom can probably ask my mom—but it’s always been you. Even when I was ten or something and didn’t know anything about marriage except that we’d live together.” Tooru’s breath hitches in his throat. “I want us to last, Tooru. So, if you want it too—“

“Hajime, I—“

“Y’know, it’s not fair for me to do all this talking.” Hajime meets his eyes. As sure as Hajime usually is, there are times when he does doubt himself, just the slightest waver, and that simply won’t do. “So, Oikawa Tooru, want do _you_ want?”

 _Until it breaks_ , Tooru thinks. He plucks his journal from Hajime’s lap and drops it onto his bedside table.

“Well, Hajime, since you so kindly asked.“ Tooru cups Hajime’s cheek with a pressure that’s just feather-light, but Hajime nuzzles into the touch immediately. “I want to wake up to you in the mornings. I want us taking turns in cooking even if you think I suck so much at it because—excuse you, I’m actually getting better!” Hajime huffs, pressing his lips to the inside of Tooru’s wrist. “I want us to win gold in the Olympics, and I want the winning point to be _ours_. I want—when we’re retired or if we get sick of Tokyo—to go back here, in Miyagi, and we’ll have dinner with both of our families everyday.

“And you know what, Hajime, I don’t care what we do as long as we do it together and stay together forever and ever, just like my ten-year old self thought we would.”

Too late, Tooru realizes that his eyes are more than a little wet, that in a few minutes he’ll be a snotty mess, and Hajime knows that too. He’s never been able to express this much raw honest sentiment without crying. But Hajime climbs into his lap with an eagerness that pushes him back against his pillows, and that’s all the warning he gets before Hajime brings their mouths together in a bruising, dizzying kiss.

It almost feels like they’re seventeen again, but in Hajime’s room after graduation, and _I’m in love with you_ heavy and electric in the air.

“We will,” Hajime whispers when they have to break apart. It’s not by much; Tooru can feel Hajime’s wet lashes kissing butterflies against his cheek. “We will, we will, we _will_ , Tooru.”

His lips trail against Tooru’s jaw, down his neck, peppering kisses all over his collarbone. Tooru cards his fingers through Hajime’s hair, urging him back up so that he can properly kiss him too because his heart feels so overfull. Hajime continues, “We’re going to grow old and make each other so, so happy. God, you’re not the only one who wants all of that.”

“Hajime,” Tooru breathes and pulls him down again.

Later, when they’ve both significantly calmed down (“We can’t even get away with a quickie here.” “And you’d know _all_ about that, wouldn’t you?” “That was one time!”), trading occasional lazy pecks but still holding on to each other, Tooru speaks up.

“One day,” he declares into the dark muted silence of his room, “I’m going to ask you properly to marry me, Iwa-chan.”

“Hm.” Hajime yawns, and stretches to pull Tooru even closer to him. “Who says I’m not gonna ask you first?” he mumbles into the crook of Tooru’s neck, almost absentmindedly if Tooru didn’t know him better.

But he does. It’s more than sure and deliberate. Tooru closes his eyes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ...Aside from it being the side effect of rereading GUSARI doujins too many times, I have no idea where this came from??? This was probably the fastest thing I've ever written in my life, like my hand is cramping a bit.
> 
> Title comes from Bruno Mars' Marry You, because why not?
> 
>  
> 
> [ tumblr ](http://pallasjoannas.tumblr.com/)


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